


Honest Words

by captaineifersucht



Series: Dressed in the Scenery [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bard is his bodyguard, Barebacking, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Porn with a dash of plot, Smut, Thrandy is a v. successful fashion designer, and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaineifersucht/pseuds/captaineifersucht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Their bodies were pressed flush to one another. Bard knew exactly how far he could pull back his hips in this particular supply closet without knocking something off of a shelf. They were no strangers to muffled moans and confined spaces, venue aside.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honest Words

**Author's Note:**

> welp, the boys went from 0 to 10 REAL FAST. 
> 
> 2/3 timestamps in this 'verse. let me know what you want in the last one!

“ The make up artists are going to notice eventually, if we keep this up.”

Bard paused momentarily, a toothy grin plastered on his face. “ Do you wish to go without?”

There was no response outside of an exaggerated groan. The sound turned into a heavy sigh as Bard pressed his fingers into the swell of Thranduil’s ass. With little to no light in the small closet, his fingers fumbled upon the lid to the jar he’d stolen.

Vaseline. He pressed the pads of his fingers to the furled entrance to his boss’ body, dry. 

“ No,” Thranduil gasped. He had a small hitch in his breath, a wet, needy sound that made Bard’s cock throb and his head light. “ To hell with them, I’ll buy more.”

Their bodies were pressed flush to one another. Bard knew exactly how far he could pull back his hips in this particular supply closet without knocking something off of a shelf. They were no strangers to muffled moans and confined spaces, venue aside.

It was easier in the home office, where Thranduil was most comfortable. On the third floor was a supply closet that was large enough to accommodate them both comfortably. It even had a lightbulb that dangled from the ceiling, one that still swung slowly now from the force that Bard had used to tug it on when their bodies had first crashed inside.

The desk of one of the make up artists laid adjacent to the hallway that they frequently coupled in. She had to have known, at this point, that the amount of thick lubrication in the medium-sized container diminished significantly when Thranduil worked from his company’s headquarters. 

Bard grasped the long, blond braid that tended to get in his way in situations like these and gently laid it over Thranduil’s shoulder, to dangle freely in the space below his chest. He laid a light kiss to the back of his pale neck. It wasn’t a thing borne from affection. Bard told himself this as he did it again and felt the thin, wispy hairs there tickle his nose. 

“ Please, Bard.”

It was arousal that made his abdomen grow tight at the sound of his name, he assured himself. The slick was cool on his feverish skin when he swiped some from the mass of it. Thranduil’s body resisted very little at the first finger, hips almost pushing back. Bard could see how he arched himself, feline, making the line of his spine seem impossibly longer, even though the designer’s torso was still clothed in a light grey linen. 

Trading soft lips for the passion of teeth, Bard bit down upon the join of neck and shoulder, ruddied the white skin to a mottling of purples and dark reds. He knew how high his marks could reach. 

Thranduil pushed back again with a whisper of a whine. “ Quickly.”

The urgency laid only in the feral desire of flesh. Bard knew this, understood how his employer was greatly stressed and needed a quick release. He was capable, he was superficially attractive. There was nothing more.

Bard pressed forward with two digits. He relished in the sounds, though stunted, he managed to pull from Thranduil with quick thrusts, small twists, and a slight curve of fingers. 

He nudged a third against the reddened and stretched rim. 

“ Your choice,” he grunted against the patch of skin below Thranduil’s ear. 

It always was the other man’s decision, further stretching or the hard push of Bard’s cock. When Thranduil wanted to punish himself, he refused the additional preparation. It had begun after he’d tripped on the catwalk, stumbled over announcing a peer’s name. His cheeks had been flushed with embarrassment when he shoved Bard into a small dressing room. It was one within walls, not the flimsy curtained things often set up at the last minute. Bard was a slave to Thranduil’s desires, weak to protest any demands.

Following requests had been made in moments of weakness, late nights alone in the office, an emptiness deep set in blue pupils. Bard held Thranduil then, an arm around his abdomen and the second across his chest, thrusts slow and lips gentle. 

He didn’t know what the designer was feeling now, what had sparked this particular session. There was a break between shows, weeks now. Thranduil holed himself up near a drafting board, creating new garments with a sewing machine or needle and thread.

“ You.” Bard ignored the sadness he heard. It didn’t make sense, but it wasn’t a part of his duty, to worry about those things. He was a vessel, a tool. “ Bard, now.”

Who was he to deny the man who paid his bills, allowed his children to thrive where once he struggled to put together their lunches. The man who treated him kindly in all matters, made his heart wrench for the love that should have been shown to Thranduil outside of superficial admiration. Bard could not do it.

“ All right,” he soothed gently, removing his fingers. Bard unzipped his slacks and pushed down his boxer briefs enough to free his straining erection that he rubbed with the remaining slick. 

He steadied his clean hand on the small of Thranduil’s back, urging him into the pretty shape he’d held before, ass up. It was a slow sink inside, the muscles not stretched enough, burning heat surrounding Bard, making his head spin. The pace was to prevent his own premature release as much as it was to ease the suffering Thranduil wished to inflict upon himself. Bard hooked one arm underneath the designer to grasp at his wilting cock, stroke it slowly.

“ You’re beautiful like this.”

Bard couldn’t say what had wrought the words from his lips. Was it desperation? Could it be the body heat created between them was muddying his mind? Or was it exhaustion, after of months and months of fucking into his boss’ tight body, wishing only to hold him close afterwards instead of cleaning up and walking in opposite directions? 

He couldn’t say what it was, only whisper more fiercely: “ I’m so goddamn lucky.”

Thranduil’s soft sigh hiccupped when Bard bottomed out. 

“ Don’t, please.”

Bard pulled out slowly, circled his thumb about the slit of Thranduil’s cockhead. He had said the words, it was done. There was nothing left for him to lose, he told himself.

_Except your job, food on the table for the kids, and the gift of touching the man beneath you._

“ I mean it.” 

The tightness in his abdominal muscles was making it hard to think, a liquid pleasure building at the base of his spine. “ Wanted this, since you hired me. Wanted you.”

Thranduil was becoming more pliant in Bard’s arms, pushing back to meet each thrust inside, jerking forward into the slow strokes against his leaking shaft. His breathing was labored.

“ Want you in my bed.” The head of Bard’s cock rubbed Thranduil’s prostate. He covered the designer’s mouth with a rough palm to smother the yelps. “ In my arms.” Bard aimed to slam into the sensitive bundle of nerves again. Thranduil bit the heartlines on his hand. “ In my heart.”

Black bangs had come loose from Bard’s ponytail, obscuring part of his face. His eyes were stinging, muscles burning with the effort of pounding into willing flesh. 

“ Yes,” Thranduil sobbed. 

Bard didn’t know what to make of the single word. He imagined what it could mean--what could happen that very evening--and the tension coiled in his stomach sprung free, orgasm ripping through mind and body.

“ Yes,” he echoed softly, hips stuttering in their rhythm, a slow drag against pliant muscle for the last few spurts. 

The preternatural man underneath Bard now, yet held so high above him in every regard, canted his hips backward twice before his knees went weak with release. Bard held him up by chest and waist, pressed a kiss against a sweaty temple.

He backed away, plucked a few paper towels to clean himself up. The moment had dissipated between them just as the room began to cool. Bard averted his eyes to afford Thranduil some discretion. A minute or two passed in near silence, the huffing of breath and metallic noise of zippers ringing in Bard’s ears. 

When he looked to Thranduil, he realized that the sounds had been entirely his own. The blond was still dishevelled, the silver twig barrette with a red leaf tangled in a knot of hair, his bright blue eyes impossibly wide. The dim lighting illuminated shadowed tear tracks on his cheeks. His lips were half-parted, the bottom one kiss bitten and trembling. Even in this visible sorrow, Thranduil was uncannily attractive.

Bard had fucked up.

“ Look,” he started, but stopped. There was no way to say what he wanted without hurting Thranduil more. Bard had taken away the designer’s stress relief, probably made him feel guilty, and it was going to force him to fire Bard. It wasn’t fair, just because Bard had developed more need from their mutual relationship than physical satiation. 

“ I’ll bring in my two weeks notice tomorrow. You can have me out sooner, if you prefer. I understand.” 

He straightened the lapel of his jacket, flattened the collar of his shirt, and reached for the door knob. 

“ Yes.”

The word was soft, so broken. Thranduil was looking at the dirty floor, the dust that was now on the toe of his left boot. His neck snapped up when Bard turned to face him.

“ No! I mean, _yes,_ yes, to all of those things you said.” Thranduil got to his feet, wrapped long, delicate fingers about Bard’s wrist, though he knew he had no physical strength here. “ No, to you leaving. Don’t leave me. Take me home.”

Bard gaped, opening and closing his mouth. Thranduil raised a brow. He nodded dumbly, came forward to help the beautiful man, one that held Bard in the palm of his hand, to redress properly.

It occurred to Bard that he should ask Thranduil where home was. He wouldn’t say so, but his was wherever the blond beckoned him, the space suspended around a very successful fashion designer with looks to kill and a fragile heart beneath an exterior of stone.


End file.
